


Katabasis

by nerdygaycas



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, hades!graves, persephone!credence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8900068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdygaycas/pseuds/nerdygaycas
Summary: Graves is the god of the Undeworld and Credence is the boy he falls madly in love with.





	1. The Abduction

**Author's Note:**

> yes, finally that au i had promised!!!!!!!!  
> and yes i did that thing where i changed a name to better suit the au, but it's mary lou so it doesn't matter xD

Once there was a boy fair of skin and dark of hair, born to the goddess of grain and harvest, who went by the name of Credence.

He’d grown up amidst the most bountiful trees and the most beautiful flowers known to the eye, mortal and divine alike, for Demary, his mother, pried herself greatly in the powers bestowed upon her. She was a sanctimonious woman, and a very stern one too, always making sure the crops produced only the finest of fruits all over the Earth. She was also loyal and protective of those whom she loved greatly, but oft-times this devotion turned sour.

From afar Demary was a caring mother, a nurturer of the lands of men; but to Credence she was much more than that. She was the shadow that followed his steps with eerie fervor and who wouldn’t allow others, friends or foes, to set foot on their premises fearing her child be taken from her.

As years went by in his solitary confinement, Credence grew up to be a graceful and comely young man who spent his days in the meadows collecting flowers and bathing in the sun; nevertheless, he was not happy.

Demary had grown too over the years, but she had not flourished. Instead her sweetness had fermented into acridity, and what once before was motherly adoration had strangled her heart leaving her with only resentment and the strong belief that Credence belonged to her; what she had carried in her womb was solely an extension of herself, thus the boy had no choice but to stay by her side and assist her as best as she saw fit. She was matriarch, in a way, to thousands of mortals, they needed her to subsist, and Credence couldn’t be less son of hers than mortal men. She wanted to keep him for the whole of eternity, and Credence knew this. And the idea of wasting away by her side, knowing no true love, no true joy, shattered his spirits more and more every day.

The meadows and the woods became his refuge, places where he could run to the instant Demary left him to watch over her crops, which were so many that she took long hours before returning to their home.

However, she had made Credence promise he would not stray far, lest someone abducted him for both his great beauty and for being her son, and Credence gave her his word. But he did not keep it.

There were many beauties yet undiscovered by his eyes, and he wanted to explore them all, for there was thirst for adventure engraved in his youthful heart.

And so every day he wandered a little farther through vast lands, climbed little higher up steep mountains, and descended a little deeper into cavernous halls; always worrying Demary would find out about his clandestine escapades and lock him up in the cellar where there was no light and nothing grew from the barren soil.

On a remarkably warm and breezy day Credence went up a hill beyond the borders of their land to pick up flowers, since that was the place where the reddest of marigolds sprouted and the view of the valley was most appealing. Time flew by as Credence gathered marigolds in his basket, thus he didn’t notice the skies clouding above until it was too late and rain was falling down angry and unforgiving.

Credence ran all the way home to quickly replace his garments and dispose of any vestige of rain on his skin. Were mother to see him like this she’d discovered the truth buried underneath his forsaken oath, for she had struck a deal with the Hyades and they weren’t to rain over her lands without her expressed consent.

When he arrived home Credence stumbled upon Demary, who was scowling and brewing something more dangerous than just displeasure behind her mask.

“You disobeyed me, Credence. You made a promise to a goddess, to your _mother_ and you broke it!” – her usually benevolent features transformed into those of a rabid beast, and for the very first time Credence felt the sharp sting of pain as Demary smacked her open palm across his face, coloring his cheeks the same shade as that of the marigolds, which now lay scattered on the floor.  

“I will not tolerate this trespass, Credence. You shall stay in the cellar for seven days and seven nights, with only water to sustain you” 

And so seven days and seven nights spent the young man in the dank cellar, starving for food and for sunlight. He often lay on the dead ground weeping and wishing he could leave this life behind and enjoy the freedom that his mother would not grant him.

On the eight morning light filtered inside the darkened crypt as Demary swung open the trapdoor and offered him a ladder to climb out of the pit.

“Have you learned your lesson, Credence?” – she asked of him.

“I have” – responded the boy, for he had.

But Demary wasn’t satisfied and with a cane made from poison ivy she hit the palms of his hands, cutting and slashing the delicate skin, until toxins from the plant seeped inside causing the wounds to burn more vigorously.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Hence the lesson had been taught, he would no longer trust her claims of love since love did not exist inside her heart.

Demary left soon after to tend to her crops somewhere on Earth and Credence was left alone, hungry and bleeding from his hands, and feeling just as deterred as one could feel after a week of imprisonment and a beating from a goddess.

Desolate, Credence left his home looking for the comfort only faraway lands could provide. He walked a great deal more than he’d ever had before, and didn’t stop walking until his feet hurt nearly as much as his hands; only then did the young man let himself rest by the shade of a leafy poplar tree covered at the base by a bed of narcissus flowers.

In fact, a white flowerbed adorned all the ground of the secluded glade he’d discovered by pure luck, and in addition to that white chastity, a stream of clear water ran along the edge of the clearing. The sound of the water drizzling over the rocks was calming and inviting in Credence’s ears, and so he lay down at the foot of the tree and let weariness and worry faint away as light turned into darkness and the pain was no more than a dream.

 

Once Hypnos released Credence from the crooning arms of sleep, a vision from another world greeted him in the form of a tall man who wore a long cloak woven from black feathers that glistened under the light of the sun turning them into a muted shade of emerald green.

The man towered over him casting his shadow at Credence, whom had fallen victim to fright. The boy meant to rise from the ground and run away from the looming stranger, yet the moment his hands pressed against the petals a pained cry escaped his lips and the white flowers were spattered by the red of his blood.

“What’s happened to your hands, dear child?”

The stranger knelt on the flowerbed and his mantle covered in darkness the ground at his feet. His hair was black too, but for two silver streaks at each side just above his ears, and dark were his eyes as well, obscured even more under a heavy set of scowling brows; his features were handsome yet severe, as if laughter wasn’t a thing that easily came to his lips nor sorrow dwelled in his sleep.

“Who are you?” – asked Credence, disregarding the pain in his hands in favor of knowing the identity of the man.

The stranger then rose to his feet and his cloak billowed as a gust of wind rushed in his direction. He stood proud and magnificent, in the way that is impossible for mortal men and minor deities to stand; and gazing up at his figure was like beholding the fabric of the world, silent, but no less daunting because of it.

“I am he whom they dare not speak the name of, for I am disdained and feared in every corner of the world. Men and gods alike do not welcome my presence, for I remind the former of that which cannot be detained, and the latter simply scorn the nature of my toil. I am the lord of darkness, my sweet child, and I reign over the entirety of Hades, surely you must know who I am.”

“Graves” – whispered Credence in awe.

 He had never heard much about the god of the Underworld for it was true he was despised, especially by Demary, whose job was to bring life from beneath the grounds, so she reviled the sentence of death and all of which it entailed, including the divinity it bowed to. The only few things Credence had heard about the king of the Underworld weren’t kind at all, instead they were vile and despicable, and pronounced by wicked tongues in hushed tones. And perhaps they weren’t true at all! Since no one took the time to get to know Graves, how could they speak ill of him as if it all were true?

“Yes, that’s my name, loathed as it is by many”

The corner of his lip curved and it may have been a smile, a terribly subtle one, but Credence didn’t dare to presume.

“And what is your name, my sweet child? And how did you come to bleed from your hands and over the bed of narcissus?”

The sunrays were hotter on Credence’s skin, and shame set in his collar, then he remembered his mother and her beating, and the seven days and seven nights spent in a lightless cellar with only water to get him by, and tears welled in his eyes when he spoke.

“I am Credence, son to the goddess of agriculture and harvest, Demary. My hands, they… The goddess believed I could do with a punishment for disobeying her, so she struck me with a poison ivy cane until the skin bled. She also locked me in the cellar for seven days and seven nights, and gave me but water to drink.”

Graves furrowed his brow and pressed his lips into a tight line as he lowered himself once again, this time to sit beside Credence on the white patch of flowers; there was emotion in the dark pools of his eyes, and he didn’t radiate coldness as people used to say.

“Demary… Although we share the same parents I’ve never liked her very much, but then again, I have a tendency to dislike most beings. I would believe the goddess would care more about her son, though I must confess I wasn’t aware of your existence… I have only myself to blame since I do not come up often.”

All the things said about Graves were mere lies, Credence thought. The god didn’t seem cruel or vengeful in his eyes, at least not beneath the shade of the tree, and definitely not with the gentleness with which he stared at Credence, but Credence couldn’t meet his eye for long without having to look elsewhere; such was the intensity of his gaze.

“My mother… She won’t let me out of our lands, and no guests are welcomed in them. She believes others will do me harm, so she keeps me from seeing anyone who isn’t her. Besides she does not want me to find a suitor, or friends of my own. In her mind I belong only to her, and that’s why she likes to keep me a secret, or as secret as the son of a goddess can be. So it’s not really your fault you didn’t know I existed.”

Graves inspected the wounds and something akin to fury tainted his semblance, yet when his eyes met Credence’s once more all trace of it was gone.

“Were I to know such exquisite creature walked upon the earth, I would have come up from the Underworld sooner.”

Credence felt his cheeks blushing at the bluntness of the god’s assertion. On account of his mother’s concern of him being stolen by strangers, Credence knew he could be considered agreeable to the eye, but the way Graves said it made his own beauty real, true.

How anyone in the world could think poorly of Graves simply fazed him no end, and so he dropped his inhibitions and let himself fall into an easy conversation with the dark god. He wanted to know that which everyone else seemed to purposefully ignore.

They sat beneath the poplar tree and talked for hours that felt like centuries, and Graves would look deep into his eyes and a chill would run all over Credence’s body.

He was no more than the repressed son of a selfish goddess and a father that, as nearly almighty as he was, had never cared for him, and yet… this god, who ruled over a third of the whole world, who was Cronus’ firstborn, and who reigned over all dead soul; was interested in him, was laughing with him, and had dried the tears that fell from his eyes when he confessed his mother’s abuses.

“Why do you endure her punishments, her mistreatments? You are free to go there wherever you want to, my child. I see no shackles at your feet.”

 “But there they are, even if you cannot see them, my lord. She would go to the ends of the earth to keep me by her side. I am hers and hers alone, and I love her… or at least I did, but now she is just different, and I cannot be by her side without wishing I were dead.”

The god stared back at Credence and caressed his cheek with a callous hand that felt softer than any rose petal to Credence, so he leaned into it and without thinking about it pressed his lips to the heel of the palm.

A sparkle, a flame, glimmered in the god’s impossibly dark eyes and when he spoke to Credence it was with something sweeter than honey and hotter than fire in his voice,

“I could help you with that, my child... I could help you escape.”

Something fluttered in Credence’s heart, something similar to hope and fear at the same time, for what would he do far from home? It was the only life he knew, the only life he ever hoped to live. The meadows and the valley, the poppy fields and the small creek behind his house; a house were only Demary’s words had weight, a house where he was no more than a prisoner of sorts.

Even though some time ago he had loved his mother dearly, the boy realized those days were long gone, part of an era where he knew no better, but now… now that want for adventure was deeply etched in his heart, his mind, his soul.

To climb mountains and see new horizons. He wanted to find friends and even foes, but more than anything he wished with deep longing to find love, someone who would cherish him, and someone he could adore with blind devotion.

As he gazed back at the otherworldly god something stirred inside his soul, a realization dawned upon him, and all pieces fell into place. All that he desired laid right before him, but it was asking too much, it was wanting more than he deserved. And Demary… she would never allow such a thing, but before his thoughts could run any wilder, instinct took over and Credence placed another chaste kiss at the back of the god’s hand while staring at him from beneath dark lashes. Something clean, and ardent, and forceful was unfurling inside him and the words were out of his mouth before even forming in his brain,

“Is that so, my lord?”

Credence blushed at the boldness of his own gesture, the coy seduction of his words. The god could have killed him on the spot if he so wished, but the boy was too enraptured to drift his thoughts in that direction.

Lightness had prevailed in all of his days and still he’d been miserable. Perhaps, Credence pondered, what he really needed was the kiss of darkness.

Graves stared at him with eyes blacker than death. He had been poise most of the evening, but now he seemed deeply shaken by the gentle brush of lips on his skin, and when he spoke his voice was croaky and it reminded Credence of ashes and smoke,

“Yes, you need only to ask, my dear child. Ask away and if it’s in my power I’ll grant you whatever it is your heart yearns for”

Credence’s mind was a cloud of thick fog, and he fancied himself in a fevered dream. Gods did not crawl out from the land of the dead to court boys like him. It was probably a figment of his imagination, and it saddened him but at the same time, if this was all in his head then there was no harm in taking it farther still,

“I could wish for a great many things, my lord” - his lips hovered over the god’s hand, over his fingers and suddenly he wanted to lick them, if only to prove this was just a dream.

And so he did, he wrapped his lips around the tip of the finger and sucked lightly; flesh and bone, as any other being, man or god.

“What are you doing?” - asked the god with widened eyes, though he did not push Credence back. There was certain stoicism in his features, but the hunger Credence had seen just minutes before was still there.

Credence had never known desire or longing before, so the feeling hit him like a wave crashing on the rocks; it was exhilarating and maddening, and his mind couldn’t process what his body was doing and feeling.

“I do not know very well, my lord. I think... I think you’re not as terrible as they say you are”

“Is that why you’re doing this? Are you playing a game with me? Did Demary or Zeus sent you here to set a trap for me? I would not think it unfitting of my enemies to deliberately inflict such pain upon me. To think all this could be just to mock me…”

Credence was horrified at the suggestion of the god,

“No, no never! I would not lie to you, my lord, I would never mock neither you, nor your feelings”

“Why are you here then? No one comes _here_ , that’s why I leave the Underworld to visit this place from time to time, because I know no one’s going to notice my presence and I can do as a please. I even had narcissus growing all over the soil, and this tree… I planted it myself.”

Credence thought that explained the ethereal beauty of the glade, and he knew a great deal of gardens and flowers and mountains and meadows and crops, but this place was beautiful in a different way; it made sadness bloom in his chest, but not in a bad way.

Melancholia... being here made him feel melancholic. As if he were transported to another world, and now he knew it was all because of Graves; being a creature form another realm his presence unbalanced the brittle nature of this world, this exact place he’d claimed as his own with flowers and trees, and Credence noticed how this small glade felt more like home to him than his real home had in a very, very long time.

Credence caressed Graves’ hand as he asked the god to lay down by his side on the bed of narcissi and to his surprise the god complied with easiness.

“I think I’m here because I needed to be here, my lord” – Credence confessed – “I don’t really know how to explain this but… I don’t want to part from you, and I don’t want to go home. I wish I could stay right here in this glade by your side for all my days. I would tend to the flowers and the trees, and gather water from the stream, and eat fruits from the bushes. If you grant me your permission, I’ll stay here and I’ll make your visits on earth more enjoyable with my company”

“Oh, my sweet child, is that really the life you want for yourself? To be someone’s pet?” –  Credence wished he could drown in the rough cadence of his words, it was intoxicating, it pulled him in, and even if it was poisonous he couldn’t help but loving it. He wanted to die overwhelmed by the feelings that suddenly took over him.

“No, my lord… I just know… I want to be yours, if you’ll have me”

The god flinched back as if stricken and assessed Credence with intent, for he did not believe the words that tumbled out of the boy’s mouth.

For his part, Credence awaited the god’s answer, anxious and scared, and waiting it would be a ‘yes’, and if it was, then he’d start a new life, a happier life, away from the prying clutches of his mother, away from her insults disguised as praises, and away from her long-held abuses.

“Can this be? “- uttered the god in a whisper – “After so many years of living in absolute misery, you walk into my life and change it all in an instant”

Credence wasn’t used to kind words, so he didn’t know well how to respond, instead he only smiled. If starting again meant being by Graves’ side, then he didn’t mind one bit, on the contrary, he was more than happy to.

“This is true, my lord. Whatever I’m feeling for you, is true. I don’t want to use you, nor would I ever presume to be a suitable match for you… but I can’t refrain myself from telling you: you’re the most magnificent being I’ve ever met. You are kind, and caring, and you aren’t… evil”

The god of the dead laughed warmly at these words, half unable to believe them, because for so long no one had said anything good about him, in fact no one said anything about him at all.

Credence crept closer to the man and Graves grabbed his hip so they were touching from the waist down. His tact was possessive, commanding, and Credence felt his stomach jolt.

“You really are something, Credence, son of Demary. Do tell me, what do you know of feelings as such, what name would you grant them?”

Credence knew it was soon, perhaps too soon to say for sure, but he said the words anyway as right then that was the only word that could express the way he felt,

“I love you, my lord”

He saw Graves’ jaw go slack in surprise and then, to his bewilderment, the man said,

“Love is too big a word for most people and yet… it is not nearly enough to describe my feelings for you, my sweet child”

The god propped himself on one elbow and stared down at credence, and it was a face Credence never wanted to forget. It was a moment he wanted to capture in his memory till the end of times, for everything was moving slower than usual and he could anticipate the action before it occurred, and even so, shock gripped him the moment Graves, King of the Underworld, pressed his lips against Credence’s own. It felt as if the water of life was grazing his lips, even when it was more likely to be the poison of death, but still he couldn’t stop smiling and then moaning when the god intensified the kiss by pushing his tongue inside Credence’s plying mouth.

But then the god stopped, seemingly against his own wishes, and sighed, for he couldn’t take things farther without tarnishing Credence’s honor. He’d already done too much by drinking innocent pleasure from his lips and laying at his side beneath the tree.

“Credence, I know this will be hard to believe since we met just today, but I’ve never seen a creature of greater beauty or kinder heart, and I don’t want to be apart from your side… I don’t want to let you suffer in that cursed household one more day, so this is what I ask of you, and forgive me, if it’s not of your liking…”

The god steeled himself as he played with a lock from Credence’s hair, and the boy could only lose himself in the sweet considerate words that sprouted from Graves’ lips, which he wanted only to kiss anew. Now he understood why so many men died for love, and so many chaos was cause by the gods because of the same vice.

“Will you come with me to the Underworld, land of the dead, and reign beside me for the whole of eternity?”

Credence’s heart clenched, for he could barely believe what was happening to him, and once again he considered it was all part of a fevered dream, but the hand carding his hair was real, and so was the firmness of the body next to his, and the softness of the lips that elicited such joyous noises from his mouth,

“Oh, I would like nothing more, my lord, but Mother… She won’t give her consent. She’ll never agree to letting me leave, and if she finds out about us being here and doing this… she’ll turn all of the Olympians against you, and I don’t want any harm to befall you because of me.”

Graves pondered on Credence’s words and then said,

“I do not care about what the Olympians may do to me. They repel me, yes, but they fear me too. I rule over an entire world that is unknown to them, and they’d think twice before starting a war against me, so I wouldn’t worry on the account, my sweet child. However, I would understand if you did not wish to leave. It is a cold and strange place, Hades, and it’s not a fitting place for a creature as warm and charming as you are.”

The implications of those last words enraged Credence at the time they made him feel sad. It was true he was a child of the light and the summer and the stars, but it was also true that he wouldn’t be able to find greater joy in this world if Graves wasn’t there by his side.

This love was crippling, he thought, but never had he been so happy to fall.

“I told you I want you, Graves, son of Cronus. I want you, and I want the Underworld, with its dark halls and cold waters, for the rest of time, because now… I want to you in my life, and in my death, and even beyond if it is possible.”

A bird chirped above them as a gust of wind ruffled the leaves of the tree. The sun was close to setting now, its dimmer light resembled the color of oranges ready to be harvested.

Credence couldn’t restrain himself as he lurched forward and took Graves’ lips in his own, and sucked on them; his mouth was a but goblet filled with ambrosia, and right then Credence knew his fate lay wherever Graves went.

“I should get back” – Credence said, lips still pressed to the god’s.

“Will I see you again?”- asked Graves as Credence stood from the bed of white.

The god kissed the back of his hand just as the boy had done before, and Credence laughed, and the sound was tinted by the god’s taste,

“You shall, my lord. Tomorrow in this same glade, I’ll come to meet you”

Graves rose to his feet too and caressed Credence’s cheek one last time. Then he took a step back and rearranged the cloak on his shoulders, and the ground cracked open just for him and swallowed him whole. Credence, who’d never seen anything like it, was victim of fright, yet he also wondered about the beauty and the horror that lay deep beneath the ground in the realms of his beloved.

On his way back to the house the boy did not stop smiling and every color seemed livelier to his eye, even if they were already darkened under the dusk sky. In his swollen heart there was no room to worry for Demary’s rage and scorn, and whatever punishment she may had in store for him was nothing compared to the sweet promise of seeing Graves again the next day.

But his mother wasn’t yet home when he arrived, so Credence thanked the Fates for the small mercy, and then he bathed, and put bandages in his hands, and ate a piece of fruit so ripe that each bite he took had sweet juice trickling down his chin.

By the time Demary arrived he was already fast asleep and dreaming of black feathers and gentle touches, and his heart longed for the coldness of the Underworld and the presence of the god of the dead by his side.

Come the next day the hours seemed endless, and he remembered they hadn’t set an exact hour for their secret meeting. Not wanting to make the other wait any more than necessary, he was out through fields and up hills the minute Demary left to watch over her crops around the world. His step was quick and light, and it was almost like flying, like being a bird as the wind carried him to see his love.

Would he be waiting? Would he feel the same intense craving for Credence?

When Credence arrived at the glade it was empty but for himself, and even if it made him a little sad he also knew it was still early and someone as powerful as the ruler of one third of the world would have important responsibilities he could not divest himself of. He didn’t only idle around as Credence did. At this the boy felt that twinge of self-deprecation in his stomach again, for who was he to usurp the great Graves’ time?

Before he dove deeper into the whirl of insecurity came an earth-shattering sound, the same he’d heard the day before, and out from the ground emerged Graves, who looked as stunning and breathtaking as the very first time, and he smiled upon seeing that Credence was already there.

Credence all but ran to greet him and soon the god had him folded in a tender embrace, squeezing their bodies together; and inside Credence germinated the seed of want that Graves had planted in him.

Credence sighed contented in the god’s arms, and breathed in the fragrance from his neck. The scent was that of asphodels and earth and something else he couldn’t quite distinguish as it probably belonged to a world he did not yet know.

“I’ve been dying since I last saw you, dear god. I cannot find rest or relief, and now that I’m here with you... I don’t know what to do”

Graves pulled back just enough to better see Credence, who melted under the heated gaze of the deity,

“I too haven’t been able to rest, and I can’t think of anything else other than you. Your skin, your hair, your eyes, your lips… I might as well be going insane, sweet child. You’ve robbed me of my sleep and my reason. Bask in the knowledge that you’ve brought the god of the dead to his knees, that he’d do anything for the briefest kiss from your lips and the quickest glance from your eyes.”

Just like the day before they sat beneath the white poplar tree and talked and kissed and laughed and joked, but this day there were no tears shed, and only bliss filled their minutes, and by the time it was noon Credence wished he had Cronus’ power. He’d stretch time indefinitely and spend each borrowed second with Graves.

Such was his desire to be with the god that a thought crossed his mind and fixed itself in it until he had no other option but to voice it aloud,

“I want to go with you, my lord. I want you to abduct me.”

“Abduct you?” – the god asked offended – “Credence, my love, there’s no need for it. If you wish to come with me then in a golden chariot I shall come for you, and a jeweled crown I shall bestow upon your head. You deserve much more than a discourteous abduction, my child”

Hearing these words Credence knew his feelings were placed on the right hands, caring hands, that would not let any harm come his way; hands that would kill for him without second-guessing.

“When should I expect you to come for me? Tomorrow, the day after, or the day after that one?”

The god chuckled at the boy’s childish attitude, and stole a kiss from his pouty lips, then said,

“Tomorrow. I’ll find you wherever you may be and in my most precious chariot shall you ride to the Underworld with me” – he said as his fingers drew an invisible line along the boy’s jaw – “… And there I will espouse you, and king consort you shall be, and all the souls and beings of the Underworld shall obey your every command and please your every whim.”

When the sun was about to set they parted ways. It would be the last time though, for their lives from tomorrow on would become one.

 

The next day Credence didn’t go to the glade. Instead he wandered around the meadows picking the most beautiful flowers he could find with the intention of using them as a gift for Graves. It was a humble gesture, far more modest than the jewels and the gold Graves had offered, but the flowers were just as beautiful, and he hoped the small gift was of the god’s liking.

And so under the pleasant sun and the rich blue skies, Credence, with basket in hand, picked marigolds and carnations and chrysanthemums and roses and lilies, and many more.

Then the familiar shattering sound rang in his ears as the lands parted like the jaws of a terrible beast, and out into the sun sprung a golden chariot drawn by four stallions as black as the darkest of nights, and with burning flames for manes; and pulling the reins was Graves, wearing a cloak woven from the fabric of darkness and entwined with silver.

Graves descended from the chariot and smiled at Credence.

As he approached the boy with resolute step he produced a dagger from his cloak and upon meeting him, took in hand a lock of the boy’s hair and cut it with one swift motion throwing it on the grass; it was a gesture that signified the end of his childhood, a signal for their new beginning.

Credence heart hammered inside him, for he was anxious and scared, but most of all, he was ecstatic by the prospect of a life shared with Graves, and so he offered the bouquet of freshly-picked flowers and reveled as Graves breathed in their aroma, then took him by the hand guiding him into the chariot that was made of gold, and there the god kissed him with painful devotion.

Thereafter, Graves took the reins once again and whipped them, spurring the horses into motion, and down into the jaws of the earth they went.

The way to the Underworld was a tunnel carved out of stone, and sooner than expected by Credence, they landed in an ample cavern where the floors were made out of polished alabaster. It was a hollow of sorts, with ceilings so high it was impossible for the eye to reach their end, and it was quiet, so deafeningly quiet not a breeze or even the smallest murmur caused disruption.

“Welcome to Hades, my love” – said Graves descending from the chariot and offering his hand for Credence to hold on to.

Credence looked around more than a little disheartened and said,

“I thought it’d be, well… bigger”

The god laughed merrily with that rough voice of his, and embarrassed by his own rudeness Credence rapidly added,

“But it’s beautiful, my lord. I’m sure we’ll be very happy here”

“Love, this is but the entryway into my kingdom. The Underworld would be in dire difficulties were all the souls of the dead to reside here. Come, walk with me”

Taken by the hand Credence was steered through a pair of wrought iron gates and upon crossing their threshold the other world sprouted before his eyes, as if a veil had fallen and only by crossing the gates had he been returned of his sight.

Now they were standing on a peak and beneath them lay a vast valley divided by several rivers. It was a land covered by trees and flowers, and some parts of it were infertile and gray, but they view was so beautiful and breathtaking Credence couldn’t ever have imagined such was the land of the dead.

It was not as different from the world above, but it was softer, blurred somehow by the ghosts and souls that roamed its dense atmosphere. He could feel their presence in the air he inhaled but it did not frighten him.

When Credence turned around, a palace made out of raw gemstones met him, and such was his astonishment that the sight left him gasping for breath.

“Come, there’s a feast waiting only for us”

Thus they made their way through the gleaming doors and inside he saw a hall of dark walls emblazoned with golden motifs. They turned left and went into a dining hall that despite being beautiful, was devoid of people; it also lacked cheerful music, differing from any feast Credence had read about.

But soon, souls and spirits came in, servants, it appeared; and from a harp delicate notes filled the silence. It was the same melancholic tune that seemed to follow Graves’ wake, every chord plucked sounded like the beating of the god’s immortal heart.

“I had this brought especially for you, and no dead laid hands on it, so it’s safe to eat”- said the god pointing to the table over which many different foods lay atop.

Graves shucked off the cape over his shoulders, and draped it over a chair carelessly; remaining only a black toga over his frame.

“I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness, my lord”

“Eat” – said the lord of the dead and smiled, and throughout the meal he mostly observed Credence in fascination neglecting his own appetite.

When they had finished dining Graves asked Credence for a dance and the boy accepted as the cithara ceased its calm, monotonous tune and sparked with energy following a new arrangement of notes. The music was a dark, sinister sound that carried their feet lightly in an easy waltz. They swayed and turned and twisted, and Credence had never felt so much joy thrumming through the fibers of his body.

Credence was an instrument but he was also music itself, and Graves was playing him with skilled fingers, guiding him and taking his slimmer frame into his strong hands, spinning him around, then pressing them together, warming the small of his back and surging him upward just to have him fall back in his arms. Like a feather, like a spirit, he danced at Graves’ tempo and everything around them ceased to exist but for the music filling his body with its grace.

They danced until their feet tired and only then did the melody stopped, and such was their joy that both men could barely keep themselves from smiling, but there was more to it as well, for with the proximity of their bodies lust had invaded their hearts, but it wasn’t the kind of lecherous feeling that haunted men so often and for which they were punished in the afterlife; but rather lust born from the purest and most divine of emotions, it was imminent and unavoidable and at one point, sooner rather than later, they’d be forced to give into the sweet pleasures of love.

As if having read his mind, Graves raised Credence’s face by holding his chin between his fingers, and with his lips just a breath away from the boy’s muttered,

“Not yet, my love. We’ll hold a proper ceremony first, but then you are mine”

Thus Graves instructed a servant, the worn-out soul of a kind woman, to prepare Credence for the service and this she did by taking him into a bathing chamber and disrobing him. Then she proceeded to cleanse him without ever touching him, yet her movements did not lack strength or influence.

Later she combed his hair and covered his body with oils and scents, saying it would entice the King’s interest for his body and their marriage would be successfully consummated, which caused Credence to blush furiously, and impatience blossomed in his chest for what was about to come.

Then, she draped over him a white thin robe that felt lighter than air and wasn’t completely opaque, but rather semi-translucent, so that it didn’t entirely conceal the angles and curves of his body beneath its silky fabric. Lastly, the woman fastened it with a silver brooch in the shape of a flower.

“It’s time” – said the spirit of the kind-hearted woman, offering a bouquet of white flowers for the boy to take.

Credence followed her into a great chamber with a vault of iridescent lights shining above them, and two thrones standing proudly at the head of the room.

There were several spirits gathered for the union too, and on the middle of the polished alabaster floors stood Graves, clad in a tunic similar to Credence’s own, but black in color and fastened by brooch in the form of a scorpion; and a wreath of golden leaves on his head.

Credence made his way to Graves, aware he was leaving behind the only life he’d known for so long, yet not an ounce of regret weighed on him, for what lay ahead was infinitely better and richer and purer, and the distance seemed to stretch with every step. But then he was there, right next to the dark god, and said god was holding his hands with heartbreaking care, as if he was holding the most beautiful and fragile of flowers between his fingers.

Then Graves looked into his eyes as he pronounced his vow for everyone in the room to hear, for even if they were mere echoes of lives that existed no more, they were his companions, his subjects, and the only people he knew.

“I, Graves, son of Rhea and Cronus, and god of the Underworld and of all that is dead, stand here before you, Credence, son of Demary, to vow my love to you, promising to cherish you and comfort you and to never be disloyal. In my kingdom you shall rule with equal measure, and all that is mine will become yours, since from this moment on we’ll become one.”

And then he produced a crown made of the silver leaves that shone brighter than starlight in the blackness of the night sky, and placed it on Credence’s head, and the boy's heart fluttered madly as if it had wings of its own.

Then the god smiled, yet soon his mouth curved into something closer to a smirk, and without a warning, his lips were pressed against Credence’s mouth and it wasn’t a perfect angle, but it was passionate and sloppy and enthusiastic, and then all of the spirits screamed and cheered and even though it wasn’t anything close to the roaring sound of the living, it was enough to make Credence blush and tremble in the god’s firm embrace.

The time was nigh.

After the ceremony nothing remained but for them to consummate their union and Credence’s body throbbed in anticipation for Graves’ hands roaming his body, his teeth biting his flesh, his voice curling in his ear as they became one.

He was no longer a child and the earth was no longer his home. Instead these cavernous halls engraved with gemstones and other fine metals would become his dwelling, and Graves, the god of the dead, would become his one true home.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys, no smut in part 1; part 2 will be a different story though(;


	2. The Pomegranate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really sorry for taking so long to post this second and last chapter, pls enjoy

The palace of the god of the dead was made out of gemstones and metals, with alabaster floors and black marble walls, that were engraved in gold and silver and many other fine and polished metals Credence did not know the name of. The halls were dark and austere, yet they glimmered with each motif carved as murals and panels, depicting beautiful and petrifying images. And up above there was a large dome made out of crystal and through which dim light shone nothing alike that of the sun of the earth.

Joined by their hands, their footsteps echoed as they made their way through a broad gallery and into a suite more extravagant than any other Credence had ever laid eyes upon. Instead of white alabaster beneath their feet, there was pure undiluted gold, and the walls were black marble too, though it seemed smoother, and long emerald drapes hung from the ceilings, and those too were chiseled in gold, floral carvings winding and twisting. In the center of the room there was a platform, and above it a round bed covered in black silks and cushions embroidered from gold as well.

On the walls, sconces carved from bone casted a faint tangerine light, nonetheless candles too adorned the floors, melting their wax upon the polished gold.

Credence looked around, awed by the beauty of the chamber. It was sumptuous and lavish, and it reminded him very well of the god himself; there was vanity and pride imprinted in every inch, but it was beautiful and intimidating to the eye of the beholder nevertheless. His belly was assailed by jolts and flutters, for he knew the fate that awaited him in the midst of the noble bed.

The heavy gates closed with a dull thump as they walked into the room. Graves still held him by the hand, walking a step before him, black tunic rippling at his ankles.

“Come, beloved. Let us celebrate properly.”

The god disrobed Credence from the white, translucent cloth and gaped at the beauty before him, beauty he’d only thought possible in the sculptures of skilled mortal men. Credence seemed to be carved out of the most beautiful and smoothest of marbles, with soft curves and even lines, his pale frame a stark contrast with the darkness that engulfed the chamber, yet the faded light made him glow as if from within; an ethereal being, pure and untarnished.

The boy was the most stunning flower, freshly bloomed into spring, yet Graves yearned ardently to crush his thorns, defile his petals, and drink from his nectar.

Death seeped through the god’s fingers seeing as he was sovereign of all that is dead, and be that as it may, what he craved for the most was the light Credence had brought with him from up above, where the skies were royal blue and the birds sang and the children laughed.

Credence was now rightfully his; his body, his mind, his heart, they all belonged to Graves. The god could take and demand, and no one would dare question his authority, not even the king consort. However, he wanted Credence to desire him as desperately as he desired the boy himself, with every strand of his immortal soul. Not all the riches in the world would suffice if he could not have true love from the boy.

Credence had come willingly to him, but it had been a decision made under the influence of Demary’s ill-manners and abuses.

The god had given half his kingdom for Credence to govern, all his subjects would have to obey the boy, and in his heart, he reveled in the idea. For long centuries Graves had been living a solitary existence, accompanied only by other deities who cared about little else other than the hurt and the pain, the righteousness of their actions.

The Underworld was a lonely place not only for the penitent souls, but also for its Lord. No joy could be derived from inflicting punishment on others, nor could pleasure be elicited from the ever-growing mass of contrite souls. He was an immortal being amidst the eternal suffering of millions of washed away souls, and no one left without his permission, which he very rarely granted.

Not even his fellow brothers and sisters would pay him visits, for they feared him, and men above would not offer sacrifices in his honor for the same reason.

But now, right before him, bare and trembling, a compassionate flesh and bone young creature, was willing to give himself to him; had come from the joy of earth, and descended into the dark abyss where very few dare set foot of their own accord. A boy that was looking for a greater adventure and instead, beneath a poplar tree had bled over white flowers, unaware of being etched in the god’s heart since the moment their eyes met.

Graves guided Credence into the bed, and laid him upon black silk that was as smooth as the waters of the Styx, that circled seven times the Underworld. His milky white flesh glowed between the tendrils of silky sea he was diving in, though his pupils were just as obscured as the mantle.

For all his innocence, the boy liked being courted by the devil.

“My lord” – he said – “What will you do to me?” – he was grinning despite the coyness of his eyes, a finger between his plush lips.

Graves chuckled, a sound that would kill weaker beings, and cupped the boy’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over the smooth flesh.

“I shall kiss life away from you, my child. I shall plant darkness deep within you. And lover, you shall be, of death.”

Black fabric fell from his body as the god unclasped the golden brooch. Then Graves crawled on top of the boy, taking in the sight of him, the mischievous sparkle in his glare, the unrepentant seduction of his crimson lips. He kissed him then, rather brutally, sucking the plump lip and sinking his teeth into it, until the boy was moaning, half out of pleasure and half out of pain. Yet, he didn’t stop until the coppery taste of blood impregnated his tongue, and he lapped the minuscule drops that fell from the boy’s mouth.

Trembling fingers came to touch the cut. It was the boy, whom with shock in his eyes was staring staggered at the god, and then back again at his scarlet-painted fingers.

“Forgive me, my love. I can be rather… enthusiastic. And your beauty is only enhancing my famine.”

Instead of offering his forgiveness, Credence sucked at his bottom lip, drawing more blood from the wound, his teeth slightly colored by the fluid.

“I am yours, dear god. My blood, my flesh… All of me I give to you, for all of me is yours to take.”

The god was shaken to the core by the words his boy uttered, and through his veins coiled the desire to drink him up as if he were a sacred chalice filled to the brim with ambrosia. Centuries of misery were but a preamble to this very moment.

With all his might and his uncontrolled want he kissed Credence’s lips, tongue plunging inside the heated cave, and tasted him, rejoicing in each distinguishable flavor, for the boy was literally part of another world, and so he tasted of everything that was good, and jubilant, and alive. No sinister darkness had polluted the temple of his body, and in spite of how much he kissed him, the boy was not tainted by Graves. He was wholly himself even when trading kisses with death.

Graves then focused on the hairless plain of his chest, sinew and delicate at the same time, and there he deposited praises from his mouth, finding a spot he favored, then sucking at the skin until the vessels beneath broke and dark marks took its place.

He noticed Credence spoke little, either to express his approval or resist the loving abuses the god bestowed upon him. Still from his throat impudent noises kept coming out: moans sliced from the marrow of pleasure that wrapped themselves like gauzes around the god’s every sense, sinful sounds that belonged only to creatures from the Underworld.

Wickedness, although veiled by virtue.

The boy was a soul he would gladly pass judgement on for the rest of perpetuity.

A cup at the platform contained the oils required to bless their union, and so the god dipped his fingers into the amber liquid and prodded at the boy’s entrance, eager to stake his claim on a soul so clean.

Once Credence was withering under his ministrations, and with three digits impaled between his legs, the god coated his tumescence with the oil; fevered and proud it stood, keen on breaching his lover’s opening, reaching deep inside his heat, and successfully owning him, as both spouse and ever-loving god.

Supple flesh between his fingers, Graves held himself no longer and with a single, potent thrust, he was buried to the hilt in the boy’s most intimate embrace, deflowering him without repentance, without remorse.

At the intrusion, Credence couldn’t suppress his shrill, and the sound vibrated against the elegant marble of the walls, the solid opacity of the golden floors.

The god of the dead continued thrusting into the boy’s too tight warmth; it was reckless and merciless. He wanted Credence to feel every ounce of misery he’d spent in solitude, every pained cry that had violated not only his dreams, but his every day too. He wanted the boy to feel the void of the Underworld with each thrust, wanted to engrave in him the agony of his subjects. Yet, this need for the boy to experience anguish wasn’t born out of hatred or jealousy, instead he wanted Credence to have a taste of who he was, to recognize in each painful slide the god he had promised himself to for the rest of eternity.

His only real and honest wish, was for the boy to really _see_ him, labels and deceits cast aside, and decide if he wanted him still.

Beneath him, the boy rolled his eyes into the back of his head, maddened by pleasure and pain, whimpering like an animal wounded by the edge of a spear. The god curved his spine, lowering his face inches from Credence’s and kissed him once more, but this time, along the kiss came his hand, wrapping itself around the boy’s frail neck, squeezing at the sides with gentle and calculated pressure.

Thus he kept the swift motion of his hips, ramming his length inside the slippery channel, and all the while Credence stared at him, fascination overflowing his gaze, and lips dangerously swollen.

After one particular strong thrust, the boy spilled white seed over his flushed skin, and the god let go of his neck, delighted at how his lover gasped for breath while trembling from his release, and the sight excited him so that he followed soon after, painting the boy’s insides the color of narcissus, feeling his seed dribble out and collect at the base of his softening shaft, only to fall like drops of milk on the silk and be drained by the darkness of its water-like surface, for the silk had been weaved from the waters of the Styx itself, and like water it dissolved and swallowed that which was deemed by the god.

Graves and the boy lay over the smooth silk of the sheets and the gold-embroidered pillows, catching their breath and soon after they drifted off into the realm of sleep, where their dreams emulated their reality, since there was naught else to ask for but what they already had been given by fate.

 

Days turned into weeks, and the Underworld had never been host to such mirth, not even the fields of Elysium were graced with the bliss that now flooded the halls of the King and his newly-espoused lover, a boy too young of age.

It was whispered by the souls, and murmured by the deities, that the god of the dead had found happiness at last, and he no longer withered away like one more pitiful soul, for he was much more than that.

Because even though he was feared and loathed by many, he was respected by all. The god was no tyrant, and his judgement was fair and impartial.

For Credence’s delight, the god of the dead had employed the services of a mortal, promising when his time came - and it would be a long time before he was collected- his soul would wander amongst the beautiful groves and fields of Elysium; and this mortal’s duty was that of gathering the ripest fruits and the finest meats, traveling to the Underworld, and preparing every meal that was to be served to the god’s espouse. Food from the Underworld was strictly off limits for the boy, otherwise he’d be eternally bound to its darkness, and although the god wished for nothing else, he desired for the boy to have a choice should he change his mind about their union.

It became common knowledge in the Underworld, then, that they answered not only to Graves, but also to his espouse, Credence.  

In alabaster halls, servant souls were witness to the devotion proffered to the boy, who was always smiling, perennial rosiness adorning the apples of his cheeks. He was often clinging by the King’s arm, and more often still, were his lips bruised from the god’s attention, for they never strayed far from each other, not when they dined, not when they bathed, not when they idled, and not when they slept.

And so, little by little, tendrils of life slithered across the palace, and Graves, the unnamable god, became an equal to another sentient being. He was not feared, he was not shunned; his presence didn’t stir chaos and birthed tragedy; in its place, he was worshipped holier than any god or creature deserved. He was granted control over the boy he so profoundly had come to care for, he had permission to commit perversions and push him to his limits, because the boy never doubted him, never flinched at the vehemence of his touch, at the ferocity of his loving.

Thus his days became a whirl of delirious fantasies he couldn’t fully believe; from the restless passion unfurled over crumpled silk sheets, to the occupied throne at his side and the perfect fitting of his hand in the small of Credence’s back.

 

“What would you have me do?” – was asking Credence with playfulness attached to the smile on his lips.

Beneath the faded out, misty sky they sat on a bench in one of the five gardens of the palace. Here, many cypress trees stemmed from cobbled ground, and there were fountains spouting gelid water from the mouths of bronze angels, the metal long corroded.

Graves grinned, his hand tucking a rebellious strand of dark hair behind the boy’s ear.

“I would have you travelling all of the Underworld by my side, cross all five rivers and go to the mouth of Tartarus itself. I would have every dead soul and deity prostrated at your feet, love of mine.”

Credence still felt unsure about his role in the Underworld. Little else he thought of himself other than being the god’s lover, his companion, and even though love was the pillar of everything they had come to be, it wasn’t the entirety of what they would become in a future.

There were two rulers now amongst the dead. One chosen by divine fate, the other handpicked by love, yet both as capable and rightful, as Graves liked to say.

“Are you sure, my lord? I’m not… I cannot imagine myself in such a position, and with such responsibility hanging over my head. I was never meant to be anything else than my mother’s hidden, faithful son.”

“My child “– said Graves, tilting the boy’s head up and undressing him with his gaze, which couldn’t really be helped regardless of the situation they were in – “You are worth much more than that nefarious title. You are the most magnificent rose in the garden of the world. You are gentle and kind, yet you are resilient.”

Credence leaned into the warmth of his hand as it came to caress the soft, lenient skin of his cheek, it was an instinct that came to him every time the god touched him.

“You really believe so, my lord?”

“Oh, I know it, my love. Only the most unique and beautiful creature could bring me to my knees.”

The pungent scent of clean air with hints of lemon, and fresh water coated the atmosphere, nonetheless all the aromas were blurred by the slight sweetness and muskiness that was Credence. Since he was one of the few creatures who still carried life in his bones, his presence tended to overpower the rest; it was subtle but in Graves’ acute senses, couldn’t be ignored.

“I also know… “– proceeded the god – “you’d prefer to be bedded at this very moment. I see it in your eyes, my darling. I know it because I want it too. I always, _always_ want to have you.”

Graves stroked the boy’s neck and placed his hand on his nape, the gesture tended to placate Credence, made him easy and yielding in the god’s clutches.

Today the boy was wearing a turquoise robe that did not reach his ankles, and instead fell just below his knees, with delicate imprints of birds on the chest. He had asked for it himself, wanting livelier garments, and one of the servants had sewed it to his liking.

“It’s true.” – answered Credence, no bashfulness or regret at the affirmation - “I do. I want you, my god. I am _craving_ for you.”

“Tell me what exactly it is you are craving, my child.”

The boy gave a lopsided smile and swerved his gaze to the sculpture of a woman being pierced by an arrow, a grimace on her face, water pouring out of her wound.

 “Your hands, my lord. Around my neck.”

The god nodded in compliance, and his heavy hand came to rest above the boy’s throat. Approaching his ear, he asked,

“What else?”

The boy’s breathing fastened, and he gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing, before speaking again,

“Your teeth biting me.”

“Hmm, is that all, my child?” – Graves laid a hand over the boy’s lap and fondled the obvious erection beneath luxurious fabric.

The blush of Credence’s skin was more intense now, dark hair flailing when he shook his head,

“I want you inside me, my lord. I want you to make me yours. I want to taste death in your kiss. I want- I want to die and be born again, just to spend every second by your side.”

Words pronounced without the smallest hint of decorum, they had fled his mouth, unashamed and unforgiving, demanding to be heard and understood, and taken care of, for that was the boy’s nature. He was candid and zealous in his openness, unapologetic in everything he did, and there was no fear in his heart, thus his desires were indomitable too.

The thrill of not knowing what the god would grant him, filled him with excitement, and this the god saw. This, the god felt.

Graves’ hand closed around the distended fabric, then he leaned forward and kissed the corner of Credence’s mouth, giving the bulge a gentle squeeze. His boy was always eager, his years much lighter than the centuries the god dragged behind him.

“Oh, my sweetest bird, my fountain of life, you _own_ me, my love. Everything you wish I’ll give-”

The light thump of footsteps echoed in the stone floors.

It was Hermes, messenger of the gods, whom with golden helmet and leather sandals, hurried at their site, dismissing the servant who trailed behind him, and then kneeling at Graves’ feet, not daring to raise his head until he was told.

The god wasn’t pleased by his uncouth interruption, mainly because no one was to disrupt him in these gardens, but much more because no one was to intrude when Credence was at his side and intimacy was implied.  

“What is this, Hermes? Have the Fates gifted you with insanity? What excuse can you give me to justify such insolence?”

At his side, Credence placed both hands over his lap, and flicked his gaze between both deities.

“Forgive me, my lord. It was not in my plans to disturb your pleasant evening, but there’s something you must know. I bring news from up above, from Olympus itself. News concerning your royal consort, my lord.”

The boy’s hand flew to Graves’, eyes wide and full of apprehension. The god caressed the skin trying to comfort him.

“Rise, Hermes, and speak the news you’ve heard.”

The messenger did as command, and rose to his feet. He was tall, and handsome and blond was his hair.

“The Earth is dying, my lord, no plant will grow from the soil, so men have no food to eat. Dead men cannot offer sacrifices to the gods, and so in dire position is Zeus and all the others. Unfruitful lands can mean the end of our times, and it’s all because of… of your union, my lord.”

“Demary” – whispered the boy.

Hermes looked at the boy for the first time, and there was no need to blame in his eyes, no desire to punish Credence for the pandemonium released on Earth.

“Indeed. The goddess has long roamed all the Earth in search for you, your highness. She rests not, and she’s been driven insane, has even threatened to let the Earth die. Desperate, she’s come to Zeus to ask for his help, and the supreme god has granted it.”

“What does that mean, Hermes? Zeus has no power in the land of the dead. No power over me.” – said Graves, anger rising in his voice, flaring and bursting like fire consuming a forest.

“It means…” – said Hermes careful not to step out of his boundaries – “they’ll find lord Credence’s whereabouts soon. It means they plan on taking him away from you, my lord.”

The boy’s grip in his hand tightened, and Graves felt his breathing magnified as well as the beating of his heart, scared, frightened, quick as the flapping of a hummingbird’s wings.

“Do not despair, my love. No one, not even Zeus, can take you away from me. You must trust me.”

“I do” – answered the boy, and though he did trust the power of the god, there was still worry in the corner of his eyes as unshed tears welled up.

“Thank you, Hermes” – said the god, directing his attention to the messenger. - “Your kindness will not be forgotten. Now leave us.”

The messenger nodded and clicked his heels, wings sprouting from the soles of his sandals and carrying him away so fast the eye could not catch him. Though he was gone soon, his presence still lingered heavily, for the news he had brought were of too much significance.

“I shan’t let her have you, my child. You belong here now. With me.”

Credence looked up, and tears were running down his pale face, he resembled a ghost, so similar to the millions of souls they dwelled with. He wasn’t dead yet, but just as grief-stricken, and it made the god livid and crestfallen and many things more, but above anything, it kindled in him a need to protect, to execute anyone who obstructed the happiness only found next to his child of light and sun and laughter.

“I know, my lord.”

 

Later that day both boy and god went for a walk through fields and meadows were some souls lamented themselves while other simply roamed aimlessly, and in a rowboat that sailed by its own will, they went across the Cocytus river and up to the land that was guarded by Cerberus. 

Credence barely spoke, nestled between graves' opened legs and enfolded in the warmth Graves' cloak provided, holding one of the god’s hand in its own, and tracing patterns over the skin. 

"Is Demary troubling your mind, my dear child?" – asked Graves, stopping his humming of a tune as old as time.

"I'll be fine, my lord. Let's not linger on it, please. I'm excited to greet your loyal servant."

“He is more of a friend, actually.”

Graves placed a kiss on the boy's temple and held him tight in his arms, and so they navigated until the boat hit land, and they found themselves in a dreary plain where many spirits quivered beneath their feet.

They were at the main entrance to the Underworld, and up on a small mound, terrible and ruthless, stood the three-headed beast, with teeth as sharp as blades, fire ablaze in the pits of his eyes, and fur as coarse as gravel. 

Credence did not advance, for Cerberus stirred distress within him. The god however, made haste toward the beast; he smiled broadly and his hand came to stroke the muzzle of the middle head, and the beast’s harsh exterior thawed at his touch, roaring a terrible rumble that inspired cries of utter terror from the souls that lay trapped beneath the grey soil, and which the dog guarded fiercely, for those were the ones that had attempted to escape the fearsome confines of Hades. 

"Come, my love. Cerberus is a dear friend of mine, and though he does not speak, he remains, to this day, my most loyal comrade, and this he’ll be to you as well. Come, come!"

With hesitant step the boy approached the mound where god and beast were, and there, Graves circled his waist in his arm and encouraged him to pet Cerberus too, so the boy obeyed, and Cerberus was not as terrible a monster as everyone had him to be, and his fur was not quite as coarse either.

Graves narrowed his eyes and inspected the boy, saw as fear crawled from its shell and developed into wonder, and soon the tight line of the boy's mouth curved into a smile, and then opened some more, and in no time he was laughing and the mirth that sprang from his soul at the touch of the beast curled warmly in the god’s chest. Seeing his boy laughing and playing, and so at ease with Cerberus, a dearest friend, filled him with delight at the time it scattered rage when he remembered Hermes' message. 

They distracted Cerberus for some more time but then it was time to leave, for responsibilities were not to be forgotten. And so they made their way back to the palace, and there, Graves and the judges, and Credence too, received many new souls and determined their eternal fate. 

 

Graves awaited for Credence as the boy got ready for supper; he liked bathing and cleansing every crevice of his body for his lord's delight. He also was fond of perfuming himself with many assorted scents and oils, and comb his hair; and every evening he'd come into the dining parlor looking fresh and indulged and more appetizing than food itself. 

All of a sudden, the heavy doors opened with a loud crash that left them trembling in their hinges, but it was not Credence’s figure who appeared from the darkness. A loud shrilling voice yelled and screamed and the steps were rather stomps, and Graves straightened his back and focused his eyes only to see no other than the goddess of grain and harvest herself, enraged and turned into a beast, as she tramped into the chamber. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes red-rimmed and seeming to pop out of her skull, and her skin was the color of rhubarb, a vein bulging in her neck. 

" _You!_ " - she yelled, a finger pointed at Graves - "You, vermin and scum, how dare you steal my child away from me?!" 

Graves contained the anger that was boiling in his gut, and took deep breaths, not willing to stoop down to her level. 

"My only child, the son of my womb! You stole him from me, you abducted him and who knows what else you've done to him! To trap him with your, your _schemes_ -they said you wedded my poor Credence! Have you corrupted him yet? If so, then Cronus help me, I shall destroy everything you hold dear, Graves!"

"And how do you plan to do that, _sister_?" - the tone as sharp as the edge of a dagger ready to slay.

"Zeus and Poseidon, and all of the Olympians support me. Not a creature will speak in your behalf!"

From behind Demary, the white clad figure of Credence emerged. He rapidly scuttled around his mother and made haste to the god's side, taking a seat and curling at his side, hand coming to rest at the Graves's chest and head tucked beneath his chin.

"Oh, Credence! What has this monster done to you? Come to me, I promise to do you no harm, my son."

The boy remained stoic and silent, giving nothing away except for a faint tremor only Graves noticed, and for which the boy sought comfort in the god's warmth, wishing all would go away.

But the god knew better, knew this was a hindrance that would've been thrown their way sooner or later, but never had he thought the mere presence of Credence would come to mean so much to him, for now the boy was a primal need, something that if deprived of, his spirit would fall into decay never to feel alive again. 

“Credence, Credence. When have I been cruel to you? You belong to me whether you like it or not, and the gods recognize this truth. I come, with Zeus' blessing, to take you back to the Earth with me. To where you belong."

"I don't want to leave" - replied Credence, gaining strength. 

"What are you saying? Has he turned you against me? Has darkness filled your soul, my son?"

The god looked at the boy and his heart swelled with pride, for the boy squared his shoulders and clenched the angular line of his jaw, and when he spoke it was with the strength of the ruler he'd become, and the demanding lover he already was. 

"No. You, Mother, turned me against yourself a long time ago, since I was younger of age and you saw fit to cage me between four walls, or trick me into freedom when your claws still flayed my flesh. You are sick, Mother… But I won't be part of your disease, therefore I won't return at your side. Furthermore, this is where I belong. This is my home now, and Graves is my lord, my king and the man I love."

Thence, the goddess was dazed and not a sound left her mouth. She was angry still, for she had not gotten her way and she was used to manipulating creatures to give into her desires.

"Is this a cruel illusion? Have you lost your mind in this forsaken land? This wicked devil kidnaps you and brings you to this _wasteland_ full of agony and sorrow, away from everything and everyone you know, and you _love_ him?" - she spat the word, as if it was something dirty and slimy that crawled up her throat. 

"I do. And I shall remain by his side no matter what you say."

"You disgusting little whore, have you fallen prey to his charms? He will get rid of you the second he gets what he wants. He will poison you from the inside and you'll become nothing but a filthy animal. Or, have you already spread your legs for him?"

"Enough" - gritted the god through clenched teeth. 

Graves had always been regarded as a courteous god, if not one of the most merciful ones, and lack of politeness had never characterized him, and was something he despised deeply; to hear such vile words directed at his boy made his skin crawl, but Credence was holding his hand beneath the table and the stillness, the pressure of his tact, told him not to lash out. 

"Credence will stay here. With me. We have wedded accordingly and no law from any god, nor any other deity can abolish our bond."

Demary licked her lips and sauntered closer, in her eyes shone a foul glimmer, and her countenance had an air of superiority, like that of one who knows more than let know. 

"But you _will_ come with me, my son. You are mine just as the crops and the grains are mine to rule over."

"No, I won't.” – replied the boy.

"Yes, you will, for if you do not… I'll let the Earth perish, and with it so will men. I do not care for Zeus' petty desires or whims. I can bring death just like you, dear brother. You cannot win what is mine. No perverse love can replace the true love of a mother, and this you will learn in the most painful of ways. Keep Credence prisoner, and the Earth will die. And it'll be all your fault, my son. All those lives lost will be because of you. Stay here and it'll be on your head, and Olympus itself will unleash its rage upon you and happiness will never again knock at your door. I’ll make sure of it."

"You can't let men die because you disapprove of my choices, Mother. It’s not fair!"  
\- argued the boy, and now it was as if her words had finally pierced his shell. 

Yet Graves knew she could very well carry her threat, deranged and unstable as she was, leaving the Earth barren was of little importance to her.

"I can, my son. And I _will_ , if you continue this nonsense and don't return to me."

Credence looked at Graves, and the god of the dead knew she had found a weak point, the thinnest thread of skin in which to sink her teeth into and infuse her venom.  

"Will you… give me time to think about it, Mother?" – said the boy, his voice small and upset, broken like the wing of a bird.

Demary smiled and it was a sinister view, demonic as long-tormented souls were. 

"Of course, Credence. Time you shall have, but no more than three days, and then I'll return to collect you. I trust you will make the right choice, dear son."

And then she went away in the blink of an eye, yet her maleficent wake endured, and it made Credence gloomy and feeble, and neither nourishment nor drink, not even amenable conversation could separate his thoughts from the calamity his mother had brought with her. The god, unable to comfort his boy in the openness of the dining hall, took him by the hand and guided him to their chambers, where no façade had to be put up as defense, and where Credence could give free rein to the anguish, that like a plague, had polluted him from within.

And there the boy sat on the round bed and upon Graves’ shoulder cried until the cloths were left soaked and his chest was heaving.

Feelings of compassion and hatred reeled inside the god, yet all he could do was hold Credence in his arms and rock him back and forth, and kiss his temple telling him it would all be alright, and that Demary had no real power over him.

“But she does, my lord. In a way.” – the boy reasoned – “If I don’t return, she’ll kill the Earth.”

The god sighed and stood from the bed and walked away from it. Then he took off his clothes, and all the while he never looked at Credence once, for he knew their union had been too good to last. Had Credence insisted on staying by his side, not even the fury of all the Titans’ would’ve stopped him from fighting, yet if Credence decided on his own to go above to live beneath blue skies and walk barefoot over green grass, then he had nothing else to do, but to let him choose what he considered best.

For all that, it hurt. It made a string break inside of him, and that broken string would make of him a worthless instrument, faded and forgotten, and never quite himself again.

“What should I do, love of mine?” – asked the boy from the bed, and it pained Graves the possibility of having the space vacant once more, of not being able to make love to the boy between those sheets ever again.

With a diamond encrusted dagger in hand, Graves scored the ridges of a ripe pomegranate from the fruit vase that lay atop a console, and put each of the pieces of the sectioned fruit on a silver platter, nonetheless he wasn’t hungry; he only wished to appear busy, to have an excuse not to look at Credence in the eye and tell him all he was feeling, for it would hurt him and cloud his judgement.

“Do as you believe is right, darling. I can’t imprison you in my dead realm, and I do not wish to do so. Whichever your choice is I’ll love you the same.”

The god carved out seeds from the fruit with the edge of the dagger and brought a cluster of them to his lips, feeling their sweetness burst in his tongue, though it was tinged sour by the imminent possibility of Credence’s departure.

He walked over to the boy and brushed his cheekbone with the edge of the dagger, and excitement thrummed in his bones. Credence swallowed and his stare darkened; the boy loved their hazardous games, and the god knew it all too well.

“I wished there was a way to do the right thing and still remain by your side, but if I leave… she won’t let me come back, love. She’ll find a way to keep me from you.”

Graves knelt at the foot of the bed, and slowly undressed Credence of his breeches, then with rouge-stained lips he kissed the buttery smoothness of the boy’s inner thigh, drawing a wet trail to the curve where leg and hip met, suckling at the arc until a dim mark rose to the surface.

“What if you could stay?” – he asked, looking up at Credence, and then staring hungrily at the swelled up flesh, proof of the boy’s obvious arousal.

The boy opened up his mouth only to let a sigh through his lips, and closed his eyes as he was engulfed in the wet heat that was the god’s mouth. He couldn’t think very well; he didn’t _need_ to. Everything of importance was summed up in the roll of Graves’ tongue, the suction of his stretched lips, and Credence would only sigh and gasp and moan, prisoner of the pleasure only Graves could give him.

“How?” – was the broken word that didn’t quite break the spell, but nevertheless, brought them back to their reality.

The god pulled back, and darkness was evident in his visage; he looked like the god of terror everyone was too afraid to even whisper about. Ardent, hungry, lascivious, convoluted; Graves raked him with piercing eyes and with wicked mouth, as if he was scheming the downfall of a great empire, as if he was ready to take a life.

“Eat.”

It was a simple word, yet one that would ultimately decide whether the boy stayed at his side or not, and it was dangerous too. The mere suggestion draped guilt over his back, and yet if it was the only way of making sure Credence would not be forced away from him, then it was what had to be done.

“Seeds from this pomegranate can bind you to my realm, sweet boy.”

The god saw Credence looking at him through lust-clouded eyes, and then the boy nodded. As if it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. As if anything the god ever said was law. The fates had really stitched a troublesome quilt the moment they decided to bring them together.

“How many, my lord?” – asked the boy in a quivering voice, his spine arching the moment fingers grazed the heated mons.

 The god hummed in delight, and murmured just a breath away from the throbbing flesh,

“How about… as many as you can before I taste your cream in my tongue, sweetest child?”

Once Credence had the first seed in his fingers, Graves wrapped his lips around the shaft once more, and keeping his eyes wide open he saw the instant the boy popped the glutinous bead into his mouth, saw his eyes shutting as sweetness exploded in his mouth, countered by the tongue lapping at his slit. His thighs trembled, so Graves steadied them with strong hands, because this game was for only his mouth to play. Credence would eat seeds until he’d come without being stroked or caressed by his hand, that would be his reward. To find release only by will of the god’s mouth, and be chained at his side, though not against his wishes.

With the second seed, Credence whimpered and grasped the silky black sheets, crumpling them in his hands and panting. The god suspected the only reason for the boy to hold on to them with such force was the need to contain himself from aiding his own release, ever so obedient for his lord.

Graves growled and the vibration caused the boy to bite into the fourth seed and juice from it trickled down the corner of his mouth staining it a lovely shade of pink, which only served to fuel the god’s attentions, adoring the tangy taste of the boy’s weeping member, then nestling more of it into his mouth, and bobbing his head.

The god could hear the boy’s desperate mewls, could see him biting his lip in an effort to keep his hips from bucking up, the toes of his feet curled against the golden floors.

The boy, in all his splendor, belonged to him, not because he had imposed his affection, as Demary had done, but because Credence had come to love him for who he was. And in reason to that, desired to live with in the Underworld, longed to play with Cerberus and argue with the Furies, hoped to admire illustrious residents of Elysium, and offer his sympathy to those who mourned in the asphodel meadows. As strange as it seemed, the boy had come to love Graves’ world. A world he was part of since a silver wreath was placed on his head.

A stream of hot release coating his tongue and sliding down his throat put an end to his reverie, and the god swallowed delighted; proud of his boy for managing so well without any other stimulation.

“Six” – Credence said, sounding as if he’d run a great distance barefoot.

“Good” – was the god’s short response.

He rose to his feet and stroked his own erection unhurriedly, his eyes never wavering from Credence’s, though the boy’s focus was set on the motion of the hand encircling the skin, the gentle pull and push, and the slight stutter just before thick ropes of white landed on his face. With his thumb, he collected as much as he could and then brought it to his lips, moaning at the flavor and staring at Graves all the while.

“I won’t leave you. Not for forever.” – the boy whispered, whilst Graves cleaned his face with a wet cloth.

“I won’t.” – he repeated, as they snuck beneath the sheets.

Graves kissed parsimoniously the crook of his neck, inhaled his flowery scent, and whispered against the skin, – “I know.”

 

Three days had passed, and true to her word, Demary returned, yet she was not alone; Hermes stood by her side and though his semblance was uneasy, he was resolute in his stance.

“What have you decided, son? Is it going to be me, or this degenerate bastard who’s tricked you into his bed?”

Credence fixed his posture and glared at the woman, the last traces of affection vanishing upon hearing her insulting remarks,

“Do not presume to know more about us than you do, Mother.” – he took a deep breath before continuing – “I shall remain by my lord’s side, as it’s the rightful place fate has granted me. I have eaten from the Underworld’s fruit, thus my soul belongs to the Underworld now and for the rest of eternity.”

The goddess didn’t seem too surprised by the boy’s statement, and the quietude of her reaction made Graves suspect there was more to it. At her side, Hermes looked as if he wanted to be anyone where but in the halls of that dead palace,

“What did you eat?” – asked the messenger.

“Why does that matter?” – replied Graves hastily; whatever the fruit, whatever the quantity, it tied Credence to his realm.

Hermes winced and shrugged at his friend apologetically,

“What did you eat?” – he repeated, and here Graves gestured the boy to give his answer,

“Answer, darling.”

“Six… six pomegranate seeds.” – said Credence, his voice breaking and lowering with each new letter.

“By command of Zeus, god supreme of the Olympus, you are to leave the Underworld, Credence, son of Demary.”

But Graves would have none of that, for he knew it wasn’t fair and it wasn’t for Zeus to command such an order,

“That is an outrage! My brother has no power over my domains, and this goes against every rule in the book, Hermes. You know once anything from the Underworld is eaten, it binds the soul, eternally, to the Underworld. My Credence willingly ate those seeds; therefore, he should remain here.”

Demary laughed a shrieking sound that reminded Graves of the butchers that flogged the souls of those who required punishment, and he pitied the Earth and its men for having to bow down to such a horrid being,

“Zeus is on my side, bastard! All of the Olympians too. The world cannot die, and I could bring its ultimate destruction. Accept you’ve lost, Graves. Credence is coming back with me.”

At his side Credence shivered and held his arm as if it were the only standing post in a ship at the storming sea; he could listen to his heart beating, that heart that was too big and caring and kind, and that had seen the good in him, past appearances and lies.

“However…” – pronounced Hermes, and Demary snapped her head back at him, a scowl crowning her features - “It cannot be ignored that Credence ate food from the Underworld. Lord Graves is right, neither Zeus nor any other god, can keep Credence from returning here, because in eating those seeds part of him now lies in these halls and beneath the paleness of these skies.”

“What shall it be then, Hermes?” – asked the god of the dead, who was getting rather tired from the banter and longed to be in the comfort of his bed with Credence sleeping on his chest as innocent and lovely as he always was.

“A week. For every seed you ate, Credence, you’ll remain a week in the Underworld, and the rest of the year you shall be on Earth and by Demary’s side.”

The god of the dead clicked his tongue and his grip around Credence’s waist tightened possessively. Six weeks out of a year was ridiculous and extremely insulting, and the god would not stand for it, for what kind of marriage could survive such mockery?

“I don’t think that’s correct, Hermes, friend.” – he said nonchalantly.

“I agree. My son has no business in this ill-forsaken place, he should be with me the entirety of his life.”

“Months. Let every seed be a month. It’s only fair seeing as he is my partner, that he should remain at the very least, half the year with me. What do you think, my love?” – and then he tilted the boy’s chin and looked deep into his eyes, and it was painful, for the boy did not wish to leave, not even for a single week.

Credence nodded, and the god knew it was a sacrifice. Knew the boy was ready to give half his happiness away for the sake of men, men that would probably never acknowledge the act, and would never remember his name, and the god wanted to pass the harshest of sentences upon all their souls.

“It’s… It’s alright, I suppose, my lord. I will come back to you and we’ll have each other for six months before I have to return to the Earth. Will you wait for me?” – he whispered, afraid the others would hear.

“You know I will, darling. I always will.” – and here the god could not resist the emotion that rippled in the darkness of his boy’s gaze, the gut-wrenching desire to be held and shielded from the monsters that threatened their happiness, and the only comfort he could provide Credence with, was the gentle pressure of his lips on his mouth, the slow glide of his tongue and a small nip from his teeth.

“Do not make a whore of my son before my own eyes, Graves. It’s revolting. Shall we go now, then? Mankind could perish anytime now, and you don’t want that weight on your shoulders, do you, Credence?”

Credence sighed in defeat and though the god of the dead saw anxiousness in him, he could also perceive determination, from the way his eyes didn’t falter, to the proud posture of his spine, and the confidence in his words,

“I’ll have a moment with my husband first. Then I shall go with you. You can wait outside.”

Demary glowered, but obeyed all the same, and so did Hermes, but not before expressing, albeit without words, his regret.

Once they were left alone, Credence sat on the god’s lap, and the god caressed his thigh and rubbed circles on his back.

“I’m scared, my love.” – said the boy, all strength vanished.

Graves’ heart was filled with rage and frustration and grief, and each emotion would pounce at the other two, tearing each other apart, and at the end he was left with nothing but shreds, vestiges of his own misery.

“I know, my sweet boy. But if that harlot ever lays a finger on you, I’ll know, and it’s not beneath me to make her pay for it. You need only ask and I will come get you, darling. Zeus and Demary, and all of mankind be damned. I only care about you, Credence. You and I are the beginning and the end of time, for what importance has time if not spent together?”

The god kissed his boy and wished he could consecrate him with his seed one last time, but the others were waiting, and it would most likely upset the boy further, and so with only his lips he conveyed the torrent of emotions that churned within him, and in that kiss he etched his whole existence, his reason to not let himself wilt in the hopelessness of the Underworld.

“Come back to me, my love.” – he whispered.

“I will, my lord. I always will.” – these were his last words and out the gates he went, and Graves didn’t follow, but still he noticed the instant in which he was expelled from his world; he felt every tremor from the grounds, and each slide of the rocks, the cracking of the soil, the lightness of their journey, quickened by Hermes’ powers.

And suddenly the halls seemed too vast and dark, and the alabaster floors reminded him of Credence’s skin, and the glistening walls shone almost the same as his smile, and the emptiness of the throne next to his echoed in his skull, for half of him had gone with Credence and only half remained; the god of the dead, as maimed and hurt as the thousands of souls under his rule, just as broken and forgotten. For the first time he felt as if he really belonged with the dead.

 

 

Life with Demary worsened, for now not only did she forbade Credence to go beyond their lands, but she also kept him under surveillance, not caring to go watch over her crops and tend to her grains; all her attention was focused on her son, whom she claimed to love at every dawn, and who was left in tears at the setting of the sun. Her abuses stemmed from her twisted sense of affection, until they were naught but tendrils of hatred and spite, yet enduring every harsh and piercing word meant the plants would grow and the men would live, and so would the gods.

But all this he underwent if only to give some sense of purpose to his desolation that, like an ever-growing void, extended its shadow, loomed and crawled and scraped his bones raw; and only the thinnest sliver of hope at the prospect of joining his beloved once more, led him to carry his weight up from the cot Demary had installed in the cellar for him. Because this was where she kept him from prying and curious eyes, there in the cellar where the air was stagnant and lifeless, and not a breeze ruffled his hair, and no weeds sprouted from the soil, and everything felt clammy, and there was no room for anything other than his own memories that haunted his sleep as well as his wakefulness, converging into a maelstrom of grief. 

One day a week Demary would let down a ladder, and up Credence would climb, and then they'd walk amongst the wilderness of bushes and trees and flowers, and Demary would talk of all the benefits that living with her entailed, all the goodness brought upon the Earth, and all the joy it caused her to see Credence safe and sound beneath her humble roof. But chastisement, she said, wasn’t to be forgotten, for if everyone did as the pleased, the world would not find its balance and it'd be the end of the Olympians as well as of men. Their possible destruction was a good enough reason for Credence to barely eat, to sleep in moistened sheets, and see the sun and the flowers only once a week, his eyes hurting from the brightness of the light. 

And Credence, dear Credence, only dreamed about his god, the one whom he loved beyond reason, the most feared by many, yet the one he most dearly admired; the one whose mere picture in his mind warmed the coldest of nights, and brought tears to his eyes because he yearned for the touch of his lips. 

On one of those days in which the ladder was let down, happened that Demary was furious and enraged, and her spirits did not comply to logic. Her eyes were wild once more, similar in barbarity as when she first came to retrieve him from the Underworld with claws of steel.

"Credence, Credence, can you believe the audacity of those humans? They want me to help them even when they are killing my plants and rarely pay their tributes to me. Even after all they've been through they keep committing the same mistakes, polluting and wasting my crops… But still Zeus wants me to help _them_ , even if they respect me no more, for he is too scared to be left without worshippers, and so he believes it right for me to bend at his will, and now I’ve been called by Hermes and I'm to go to Olympus to justify my acts, as if I was a mortal child and not a goddess by the chosen by fate!" 

"Would you… like me to come with you?" - Credence asked, unsure as of why she was confessing all this to him, to what end, when he was merely a prisoner. 

"No, not all. They cannot see you. Tainted as you are, your beauty remains untouched, and the gods are too greedy, as Graves has already proven. Cunning and deceiving, I shall not have them scratching at your skin. No. You'll stay here, my son. You'll prepare supper and you'll clean the house and you'll scourge the filth off your flesh and you'll cut the curls of your mane. You need to scrape off your body as I've scraped the depravity off your soul, adulterated and soiled by that monster’s hands.”

It was enough of a punishment to be locked away in a cellar for the greater good, with little more than stale bread and old water, but listening her insulting Graves flickered the flame of anger that had burned slowly over the course of many weeks inside him,

“I won’t.”

Something twisted and span in Demary’s face, all the wrath she was feeling toward the gods now turned to Credence, and she cocked her head to the side, her jaw clenching.

“What was that, Credence? Did you say no to me? Are you… disobeying your Mother?”

Ire rose with every word she spoke, and she loomed closer to the boy, but he did not step back and in its place, stood straighter, and tilted his chin upward.

He wasn’t a child; he wasn’t of the Earth. He belonged to the Underworld, and there he was king-consort, and all souls bowed at his feet, and all deities followed his orders, and Graves himself had him as an equal. He would not bend at Demary’s will; mother or goddess, both titles meant little to him now.

“I won’t do as you say. I won’t make you supper, I won’t clean your house, and most certainly I won’t cut my hair. And if I am to be considered adulterated and soiled, it’s because of you, not Graves.”

She moved too fast for him to have anticipated her, and the slap to his cheek had him falling to the ground, the taste of blood coating the inside of his mouth. Thereafter, her feet pelted vindictive blows against his chest, his belly, his groin. One after the other, the goddess relentlessly kicked her son, until he was but an inert, yet whimpering mess on the ground. Half-conscious from the pain, Credence felt his mother approaching, kneeling, and in his hand she carried a knife. He could understand her words, but they were all garbled. The message was the same: Credence was dirty, Credence was wrong, Credence would have to pay for misbehaving.

And then she yanked his head back, and through narrowed eyes he saw locks of dark hair falling to the ground.

“That will teach you a lesson, you, filthy boy! You are my son. _Mine_. And you shall do as I say.”

The door slammed and she was gone.

Credence didn’t delay for a second, and soon he was up on trembling feet, stumbling his way out the house and running as fast as his bruised ribs would let him. He ran and walked and staggered and fell, but he never stopped until he was at the clearing where he and Graves had first met, and it looked just as peaceful and unperturbed as that first time.

Once again the place felt like home.

Under the poplar tree Credence laid as he struggled to catch his breath, yet each mouthful of air only brought pain to his chest. He tried sleeping, but it proved too difficult and so he settled for humming to himself the tune he and Graves had had their first dance to.

The flapping of wings reverberated inside his head, and the splash of the stream forged into notes from a lullaby, and soon the boy, in spite of the gruesome pain and the famish that had long settled in his stomach, dozed off, not completely able to abandon himself to dreams, for they would most likely be nightmares.

 

“I’ve been coming here each day for three months hoping I would see you, my sweet child” – Graves whispered, kneeling over the bed of narcissus.

His boy lay there, bruised and gasping even in his sleep. The locks of his hair had been chopped off unevenly, and from his mouth a trail of blood fell on his ragged clothes. He looked rather gaunt and sallow, and the liveliness Graves remembered in him, was now gone, or at least lay hidden deep beneath his frail, parchment-like skin.

The god cupped the boy’s unbruised cheek and caressed the skin, and self-loathing swelled inside him, for he was guilty too of the atrocity. Had he stopped Demary from taking Credence away, none of this would’ve happened.

The boy came into his senses, and his eyes lit up upon seeing the god’s face, his rising to caress the god’s jawline, a smile tainted by blood on his lips.

“My lord” – he whispered, and it was as if he was unsure of himself, as if he thought it was all part of a dream.

“Yes, darling. It’s me” – replied Graves, propping the boy up and laying his head on his lap. - “Forgive me for being too late.”

The boy shook his head, the gesture weak, though full of intent. His breathing was just as labored, and he felt frail in Graves’ arms, like glass ready to break.

“Is this the first time she does this to you, my love?” – the god asked, and at this the boy simply nodded.

“She…” – he began, though he had to clear his throat to continue – “She kept me in the cellar most… most of the time. Only going out once a week. She said I could not just… rot away.”

Against his instincts, the god remained impassive, otherwise he would tear the world to shreds. It was not an impossible feat, and he had all the reasons to do it. Instead he cradled the boy in his arms, and carded the mess of hair between his fingers.

He then lay a chaste kiss on the boy’s forehead.

“There is no need for you to suffer this way, my love. I cannot let this happen again, for once is more than enough. Only once is too much, Credence” – he softened his tone, making himself sound as vulnerable as he felt – “Will you come back with me?”

Tears welled Credence’s eyes and the god feared righteousness would win him over. His bottom lip quivered, and then he was back to being a terrified child seeking comfort in Graves, burying his face in the god’s abdomen and making himself smaller. _Yes_ , the word repeated until it had lost its meaning.

Graves scooped the boy in his arms, and he was lighter than he remembered, but just as beautiful, even with reddened teeth, and a grimace on his face.

The earth cracked open for them and in no time they were at his chambers in the palace made of gems and metals, and upon the round bed covered by sheets of the Styx, he laid his boy, careful and gentle, and all day and all night he remained by his side, delegating his duties to other deities, and not resting until Credence fully returned to his senses, and the wounds had healed. And in all of that time he worried, even if Credence was immortal and was surly to heal, for the boy was the god’s most valued treasure, and only his wellbeing could put an end to his anguish.

By his command, Demary’s entrance to the Underworld had been forbidden, yet she’d be locked in the darkest of cells if she dared to set foot in the realm, and anyone that helped her would be cast into eternal torture with no chance of ever being born again, and their days would be filled with agony.

Yet such threats weren’t of great necessity because most beings obeyed him and many of them had lamented Credence’s parting.

Still, rumors reached him that Demary had been seen, and had been locked in a cell in the deepest dungeon of the jail that had been built for the souls of immortals had there be any need for their punishment.

And so, by his order, she was only to be fed with water and bread brought from above, for he did not desire to tie her to his home. And just like that he forgot about her, Credence’s welfare always at the forefront of his mind.

When Credence opened his eyes and looked up at him, it was as if the god had drunk from the cup of happiness, the taste new and fresh, and even sweeter than before. He kissed him then, slow and passionate, for there was no need to haste, and they had all the time in the world, and only they mattered.

Immortal as he was, his recovery was quick and upon that first opening of eyelids, his battered ribs had already cured.

“I won’t ever let you go again, Credence. Oh my child, you’ve been away from me for far too long!” – all his energy, his anger, his sorrow, his longing, was poured into the boy’s mouth and clothes became too much of a nuisance, so the god ridded himself of them.

Beneath him the boy was only covered by the silk duvet, and the heat of his skin was close as that of the sun.

“I missed you too, my lord.”

And so they kissed until their lips were ached, and their hips rolled together while they panted, clawing at each other, and it was frantic and desperate and Graves whispered adoration against the boy’s neck, and the boy trembled like a leaf beneath the god’s weight, and there was no delicacy, no elegance in their movements. It was rather forceful and violent, and dark marks peppered the milky skin of the boy as well as bruises from where the god had gripped too tight, and it was similar to dying or to being born, or reincarnation perhaps, and as such it was wet and messy and chaotic, following no pattern and fitting into no mold, but in the end it was like any other entropy, and the calm that followed, the warm afterglow, was as powerful as the act itself, if not more, for now the hunger had been sated, and nothing remained but the rhythmic breathing of their exhausted bodies.

They stayed three more days in the cloister of their chamber, talking more than anything, though they too reacquainted their bodies until each curve and dip and edge and mark was learned again to perfection, and the taste of their mouths was only one.

“Do you wish to come with me to see your mother, my child?” – asked the god, his lips having just left the soft skin from the boy’s stomach.

Through dark lashes the boy looked at him, and no fear flashed in his eyes, only a quiet fury, and a trace of disappointment too.

“Not really, my lord. I want never to see her face again for the rest of my days, though I do worry what she might do in retaliation.”

“Worry not, my love. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Can I stay here then?” – asked the boy, and he was back to being his Credence, unabashed, playful, full of the life his whole realm lacked.

“Of course, my love” – said the god, throwing a black cloak over his shoulders and leaning down to capture soft lips in his own.

“Please come back soon” – the boy pleaded.

The god saw a flash of mischief in his gaze,

“Whatever for, my child?”

“I have a surprise. For you.”

Graves chuckled and kissed his boy once more, the taste and feel of his lips as addicting and sweet as ambrosia,

“As you wish”

 

True to the rumors Demary had been imprisoned in the darkest cell of the deepest dungeon, and her figure seemed frail when he gazed at it, an old woman driven to insanity by her own hand, and though he tended to be considerate and polite, the goddess incited nothing but displeasure and hatred in his heart, and he was not known for hypocrisy.

“This is what will happen, Demary, daughter of Cronus and Rhea. You will leave never to return while your son, Credence, stays here for all eternity as my husband and ruler of the Underworld. You will also continue your duties as goddess of grain, harvest, and crop, and men will not die because of you, nor will the gods lack sacrifices due to your pathetic behavior.”

The woman leaned on a stone wall as she stood on legs that could barely support her.

“And why should I do any of that? Why should I let my son become your whore while I serve men as nothing short of a slave?”

Graves chuckled and though the sound was low, it made the ground quiver.

“Because I say so. Because I love your son more than anything and I care not if the whole world annihilates itself because of it. Because, for all I care, the Olympians and makind are good just as dead, even better. You can threaten to kill _them_ , but you can never kill me. No one can. I alone rule over death, I’m its only master, for all dead things obey _me_. And because, if you do not, I’ll cast your sorry corpse into Tartarus for all time to come. You will rot for eternity in that forsaken place, and there will be no salvation for your soul.”

At the mention of Tartarus Demary flinched; it was a place feared by everyone, even by the Titans that it held in ancient cages, for nothing ever came out of Tartarus and only sorrow, pain and despair was held within it.

“You can’t… Thanatos…” – she whispered.

“Thanatos will do as I say.”

“But… Zeus, he won’t allow it. He won’t, he can’t!” – she said, and it was sweet to watch her eyes widen with fear, her body shaking until it fell to the ground.

“Demary, have you not been listening to my words? If you ever try to take Credence away from me, you shall know nothing but pain and agony, and all Earth shall wither and decay. The death of many will only make me more powerful. Who will challenge me then?” – Graves took a step back, disgusted by the woman at his feet – “You’ve been warned, sister. Now, be gone. I expect never to see your hateful face again.”

He left her trembling in the shadows, not once glancing back. If she was smart then she would forget about her son and carry her duties, if she failed to do so, then it’d be Graves’ utmost pleasure to ensure she lived in torture for the rest of infinity. Both outcomes would please the god of the dead, but for now, he had much more important matters to attend to.

 

 

Credence was splayed over black sheets, his legs long and welcoming, and his wrists tightened by silky red scraps, a piece of the same scarlet cloth over covering his eyes. His skin was slightly flushed and he smiled at the sound of Graves’ footsteps.

“Is that you, my lord?” – he asked huskily.

But the god did not answer, and instead his eyes roamed over the feast of flesh and lust his boy had so lovingly prepared. He ran his fingers over the warm skin of his thigh and nuzzled at the crook of it, inhaling the oily scent of flowers the boy had lathered himself with.

“My precious child, what did I ever do to deserve you?”

Just as the god suspected, Credence had readied himself while the god was away, and his finger easily made its way inside the boy’s heated entrance, the glide was smooth, the tightness ideal and it made Graves’ mouth water.

Credence moaned at the invasion and bucked his hips, only a little, straining not to arch his back, to be good and subservient to his god.

“Turn around” – ordered the god.

And the boy did as he was told, never one to disobey the god lest he be punished, though that he liked too.

Soon he was facing downward, his arousal trapped between his own body and the bed, and when the god pushed two fingers inside him with no previous warning, breathy mewls filled the air, and his hips grinded against the silky sheets, and they were so soft and smooth, it was almost as the god described it felt to be inside Credence.

Graves stared bewitched at the motion of his fingers, the rough pulling and pushing, the curve at the rim, the digging and caressing of the inner gland, until Credence spurted juices on the bed, and it was so enthralling; the scent of the oil mingled with the boy’s own aroma was such a delight to his senses that he needed to kiss his boy there, where he was most sensitive and most excitable.

The god licked a straight line from the boy’s sack to his hole, and there the taste was sweeter. He splayed both cheeks and kissed the puckered muscle, moaning and humming, and feeling his boy come apart beneath him. The god delved his tongue inside and sucked at the edge, eliciting more whines from the boy, and whimpers too. In one hand he wrapped the boy’s aching arousal and started to stroke it and thrust it in his fist, never once neglecting the hole that now fluttered and was pliant under his tongue’s skillful nurtures.

It was a tight fit, even after Credence’s careful preparation, and the thought of his boy pouring oil over his fingers and reaching behind to ease said digits inside his heat, clouded his mind with thoughts of lust and desire, and everything in him wanted to claim Credence as his own, to tear him open and kiss him back to health.

Graves slurped and sucked heavily at the boy’s clenching and unclenching opening, and kneaded the flesh of one cheek, slapping the skin red, and jerking the boy’s throbbing member in his hand, fist tightening at the head, and milking the tip.

Yet, for all purposes the length of his tongue was not enough, and so he gave Credence’s hole one final kiss, all spit and lips and tongue, only to stroke himself out of his breeches, and push the head inside without waiting for the boy to catch his breath.

Being enveloped in such tender walls, and being pulled by Credence’s own ravenousness, was the only version of paradise he wished to know. His boy was all the glory Graves needed.

His hips rolled against the rosy skin of the boy’s bottom, and each time he gained more force, and his resilience never faltered, for he was almighty between these walls. He was the only god in this bed, and sweet Credence was his devout believer, always willing to serve, to please; whether with his body or his soul, he was all for the god’s taking.

So the god took.

His hand came to Credence’s neck, while he thrusted without mercy into his self-claimed victim, he brought the boy up to his height and bit the shell of his ear, and Credence would have moaned had his throat not being delightfully squeezed by the god’s grasp, but as he was all he could do was push back as Graves push forth.

“You. Belong. To. Me” – Graves grunted, each word punctuated with a forceful thrust of his hips.

Erratic and overwhelming, were the waves they drew as the reached climax in unison. It was intense and couldn’t be contained, as any force of nature unleashing its power against weak mortals, and it left them just as shattered and unsteady.

Graves loosened his grip around Credence’s neck and groaned through the remnants of his orgasm, feeling as he spurted his seed inside the boy’s tight channel.

“Yes, my lord. I’m thine. Forever thine.” – whizzed the boy, voice raspy.

Graves pulled out and swallowed his seed as it dribbled out of Credence, humming at his own taste and pleased it trickled from such an intimate part of his lover’s body, always marveling at the shivering sounds that tumbled out of his boy.

Then he came up to kiss him on the lips, chaste, and innocent, and nothing like the kiss he’d just given, and upon that most innocent of touches, the strong taste of pomegranate invaded his tongue. It was sweet and sour as it mingled with his seed, and Credence’s lips were the color of blood, and the boy beamed at him, and it was a light far brighter than any other in this world.

The serenity that appeased them later was better than any promise of eternal grandeur, for now his boy was to be by his side for the rest of eternity.

 

 

It is said the Underworld is ruled not only by the fearful god whose name is Graves, but also by one boy, as beautiful as death itself, who was first born in Earth but fell in love with the god of the dead. They both govern over millions of souls, and their reign is just, and compassion is their creed, and the halls of the Kingdom’s palace are filled with mirth even under the dreary skies.

And from the hill it sits upon, both Graves and Credence stare at the valley below them, and their hearts are kindled with life, and they shine brighter than the gems of which their palace is made of.  Thus they live happily and no gods from above ever sink into the Underworld to disturb their quite happiness, for Graves’ name is still feared amongst gods and men alike.

The lord of the dead loves his boy to death, and anyone who ever threatens them is cast into Tartarus, ever to suffer and die time and time again for the rest all of eternity.

And no love story has ever compared, for the love they share is too intense and ardent and ruthless, that it lives on through all centuries, only whispered by the mouths of mortals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dsfjllkamfa, i'm not sure if this is good enough but I have to be up in less than an hour to catch a 5hr flight, and i couldn't just leave without wrapping up this story(as gracefully as i could manage, so sorry)  
> i love you all, hope you had an amazing christmas, and i wish you all a very happy new year<33333

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr: [ elvishflower ](http://elvishflower.tumblr.com/)


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